


Remembering Bodie, part 1

by hutchynstarsk



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Amnesia, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2011-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-27 13:42:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchynstarsk/pseuds/hutchynstarsk





	Remembering Bodie, part 1

_**Remembering Bodie, part 1**_  
With many thanks for their help & encouragement to Kathy, [](http://siskiou.livejournal.com/profile)[**siskiou**](http://siskiou.livejournal.com/) , [](http://franciskerst.livejournal.com/profile)[**franciskerst**](http://franciskerst.livejournal.com/) , [](http://merentha13.livejournal.com/profile)[**merentha13**](http://merentha13.livejournal.com/) , [](http://hutcherie.livejournal.com/profile)[**hutcherie**](http://hutcherie.livejournal.com/) , and [](http://nickygabriel.livejournal.com/profile)[**nickygabriel**](http://nickygabriel.livejournal.com/). Thank you so much!

With many thanks for the beta to Beta'd by [](http://anna060957.livejournal.com/profile)[**anna060957**](http://anna060957.livejournal.com/). All remaining errors in plot, style, characterisation, etc., are my own, and the characters do not belong to me.

And many thanks and squees to my artists, [](http://hutcherie.livejournal.com/profile)[**hutcherie**](http://hutcherie.livejournal.com/) and [](http://mific.livejournal.com/profile)[**mific**](http://mific.livejournal.com/)!! :D

Their art can be found here:

hutcherie's art:  
<http://hutcherie.livejournal.com/11139.html>

mific's art  
<http://mific.livejournal.com/45332.html>  
&  
<http://archiveofourown.org/works/295884>  
 _And I’d like to acknowledge all the authors before me who’ve written great amnesia stories for the lads!_

  
 **Remembering Bodie**

by Allie

  
#1  
 **Enduring Macklin**

Bodie put down his pint, swallowed and caught Doyle’s arm. “Here, let me see.”

“’Ere now, leave off.” Ray swallowed and almost choked, and pulled his arm free. Wiry bloke. Bodie felt the muscles harden under his hands; he released his friend.

“Now Raymond, let Bodie see,” he said in a teasing tone, caught Doyle’s arm again more gently and carefully pushed up his sleeve.

Ray winced as the loose, light material slid up over his purpling arm. Bodie whistled, and Ray turned a defensive frown on him.

Bodie said, “Turning all shades are purple, aren’t you, mate?” It filled up most of Doyle’s arm between the elbow and wrist, mostly a uniform purple, but some spots worse, black and puffy and painful-looking. “What’d Macklin do to you?”

“Leave off. It doesn’t hurt.”

“Oh, you don’t feel this, then?” Bodie tapped the tips of his fingers on the edge of the bruise, the very edge where it didn’t look so bad. He kept hold of the wrist with one hand and kept his teasing fingers light.

But a flicker of eyelids, a wince of pain on that moody, expressive face showed that it did, indeed hurt.

“Hang about,” said Ray, his voice going rough as he pulled his arm free. It hurt; it obviously hurt very much. Bodie stopped and withdrew. Doyle worked the sleeve back down carefully, his face a grim study as he did. Expressive ol’ Ray. Bodie watched the play of emotion: the pain, embarrassment, determination, and then very briefly agony as he jarred the worst spot of his bruise by accident.

Bodie lifted his glass and drank some of the foamy brew. It tasted good going down, clean and quenching, but it didn’t cover his feeling of disquiet. “Why you, Doyle? Why just you getting extra training from Macklin, and the bloody great bruises?” Doyle had only mentioned this one while complaining about Macklin driving him too hard, but there were probably others.

Doyle shrugged. “Dunno. Cowley didn’t say.” He raised his glass and drank, looking serious and grim—not so unusual—and rather bleak (also not as unusual as Bodie would’ve liked). “Think I’ll make an early night of it. Thanks for the drink.”

Bodie rose when he did. “You’ll be all right?”

“Yeah,” said Doyle, the word tough-sounding and slightly drawn out, as he did so well. “I’m made of iron, you know.”

“’Course I do,” agreed Bodie and walked with him out to his bike. He tapped Doyle lightly on the helmet and raised his hand in farewell.

Doyle fitted on his glasses and helmet, got on his motorbike, peered at Bodie over the top of his aviator sunglasses and smiled, then pushed them up quick. With a twist of his wrist, he throttled and roared away.

“Don’t mind me, then,” called Bodie, cupping his hands round his mouth. He lowered them, grinning, and watched Doyle ride away, swift and cool and wild-haired, curls escaping from his helmet.

With a slight frown, Bodie headed back to the pub. Somebody needed to look after that man. What was bloody Macklin thinking? Never mind Cowley; he always did think Bodie and Doyle could take anything and it would just make them stronger. Well, that might be true; but it was usually together, the two of them. Separated, they didn’t always fare so well, and this left Bodie with an uneasy gut feeling.

Much as he usually avoided Macklin’s training at all costs, he might just need to make an exception and show up unannounced tomorrow.

#

Doyle was the only one being trained. It surprised Bodie, because usually there were at least a few others around. Why the special treatment for Doyle?

Bodie sat in his car, watching from the distance, from his car. He noted the preponderance of punching bags and footwork. Boxing, not running. And no weapons. Also not the free-style fighting Macklin preferred. And he was doing it all one-on-one with Doyle.

Today, at least, he didn’t seem to be trying to hurt Doyle, simply training him hard. They were certainly exercises Doyle was used to. He’d been a boxing champion or something in his detective constable days. Bodie never paid very much attention to the constable-days stories and often made a point of yawning through them.

He liked Doyle well enough, but he never had liked coppers. He liked to keep Doyle and policemen separate in his mind, not having to associate his fierce, competent and incorruptible partner with the coppers he’d known.

He continued to watch the training, keeping himself well-hidden. He was under no illusions about Macklin; if the man saw Bodie, he’d insist that Bodie also join the training since he wasn’t good enough to escape being seen.

Bodie stayed long enough to be sure of what was going on, and then he slipped away. What did it mean? Was Doyle back to being a cop, rehashing his role as boxer? That was certainly the training it looked like he was getting. Or maybe he was going to be a different boxer...

Bodie’s expression hardened to one of thoughtful concern.

It really didn’t come as a surprise to him when, only three days later, Cowley told them Doyle would be undercover as a boxer.

“You’ll be infiltrating the undercover boxing ring run by Simon Valentin. You need to be in top shape, because they’ll work you hard—both as a boxer, and, if you gain their trust, as an enforcer for Valentin’s dirty deeds. He traffics in a number of things we’d very much like to catch him out on.”

“That sounds good, sir,” said Doyle, standing straight and at attention. “But isn’t this a job for the police?”

Cowley dropped the file he’d been holding on his desk. “Perhaps it would be, Doyle, if he had confined himself to drugs and prostitution. But since he’s now involved in the traffic of illegal arms to terrorist cells, all bets are off. It’s time for CI5 to clean up the mess that the police couldn’t.”

“Yes sir,” said Doyle. “I’ll get a chance to show off me boxing skills.” He flexed his arms and grinned at Bodie.

Though he’d been through the wringer with Macklin, he didn’t seem beaten down. He was strong and tough, Doyle was. Bodie had no need to worry.

Yeah. No need to worry at all...

#2

 **Bruises**

  
They walked briskly down the hall towards Cowley’s office. It was the first time Bodie had seen his partner in days.

Doyle’s strides were long, and he seemed in a hurry to reach Cowley’s office. He looked battered and bruised, and his brief smile of greeting to Bodie had been troubled.

“You sure you’re doing all right, mate?” Bodie regarded his partner closely as they walked.

He didn’t get to see Doyle very often these days. And his partner looked decidedly the worse for wear.

Doyle nodded brusquely. But he had a huge bruise on his cheek and a weary, washed-out look as if he hadn’t got much rest lately.

“Banged around in the ring a lot?” asked Bodie.

“Bo-die,” complained Doyle. “Leave it, all right? Can take care of myself, can’t I?”

Bodie left it, but his lips thinned.

He wasn’t allowed to look after Doyle on this mission. Cowley had him carefully and completely busy with other things. “I might need you to go undercover as well, so you can’t be seen there, not even once, until I say so,” Cowley had explained.

It made sense, but Bodie didn’t have to like it. He had obeyed—so far—but it went against the grain to leave Doyle to be beaten around in the ring without proper backup.

And he didn’t have any proper backup. That bloke he’d worked with, Stuart, the undercover man, was nearby and supposedly keeping an eye on things. But he was well-known to Bodie and the rest of CI5 as someone who stayed undercover no matter what. He wouldn’t stick his neck out to help Doyle, would probably consider him expendable (and well worth the price) if it helped bring down Valentin.

Bodie knew very well they were all expendable. But not Doyle, not to him.

“Sir,” said Doyle to Cowley, looking worried and tense. “I think they’re on to me. They fall silent when I enter the room—they’re putting me against bigger and bigger men. I should be fighting blokes in my own weight category, but they keep—trying to find someone who can stop me. And so far they can’t but I don’t think I’d realistically put up with this much longer.” He leaned on his hands on the table, and Bodie saw the bruises to his knuckles, the swollen areas, the places wrapped in white bandages.

“The character I am playing would quit when it starts to get too unfair. I think you have to let me out of it. Put someone else in. They’re too suspicious. Maybe I’ve got policeman vibes still. I can’t say. But I don’t think they intend to let me walk away, sir. Now I don’t mind bluffing, but there needs to be a point to it. And there isn’t, if they won’t let me get close.”

Cowley drummed his fingers on his desk and frowned. His glasses glinted and he seemed to be thinking deep thoughts behind them. “Aye. Well I didn’t want to do this, but... Bodie, you’re in.”

They both turned to look at Bodie. “Me, sir?”

“Him?” Doyle jerked a thumb at his partner, rather unflattering with that look of disbelief. “Can he box?”

“I’ve been training with Macklin for a week,” said Bodie stiffly. He had the bruises to prove it. “And I can bloody well fight, can’t I?”

“Easy sunshine.” Doyle raised his hands. His eyes held a spark of humour, enjoying Bodie’s wrath. “Never said you couldn’t fight. Maybe that’s all they’ll want—a street fighter. I think the whole boxing thing is mostly a ruse by now anyway. The real money is in the drugs and guns. Valentin needs someone who can be trusted as security. Not sure I’ll ever be it, but perhaps you with your lovely shady background will work.” He looked satisfied with the idea. “You’re welcome to take my place, mate.”

Bodie scowled. Doyle needn’t be so dismissive of Bodie’s skills or his “shady” past.

Cowley watched them but didn’t say anything about the tension between them. “You’ll need to stay until Bodie is safely ensconced, Doyle. We can’t have the two of you—your departure, his arrival—being connected in Valentin’s mind.”

“Yes sir.” Doyle nodded, and then started to leave the room with purposeful steps. He swung back. “Oh, hold up, sunshine.” He looked Bodie in the face, his green eyes almost clear today, like you could see right through them and into whatever was underneath—his soul, perhaps. “You’ll probably have to fight me. Because I’m the best they’ve got right now, and they’ll want to test you against that.”

Bodie felt himself bristling on the inside but kept his face bland. “Oh yeah? Well I’ll go easy on you, mate.”

Doyle laughed, almost derisively. “I’ll go easy on you and all, mate.”

Cowley looked back and forth between them. “You’ll do no such thing, Doyle. Nor you either, Bodie. If you go easy on each other, they’ll be certain to see through you. No, if they tell you to fight—you fight. All out. And Doyle—be careful in the ring till then. I don’t need you coming back damaged.”

“CI5 might lose its investment, sir?” said Doyle, standing straight and bland-looking, but with wickedness behind his green eyes.

 _Why do you do that? Why do you try to bait the boss, sunshine? wondered Bodie in exasperation._

Cowley scowled at him. “Yes, Doyle, CI5 might lose its investment. But you’ll lose more. On your bikes.”

The two agents turned as one and almost got stuck in the door trying to go out at the same time. Doyle glared at Bodie accusingly as if he’d forgotten to get the door for his partner on purpose.

In the hall, Bodie felt prickly, unhappy and very disappointed. Since this started, he’d wanted Doyle to come back to see them—see him—for a few minutes a day, if he could. Often he couldn’t, and Bodie missed him more than he liked to admit. It made him sound weak, missing his partner so much, looking forward to seeing him. And when he did get to see Doyle, it wasn’t like he wanted it to be—feeling reassured that Doyle was really okay after all and having a laugh with him to lighten the gloomy mood of working apart. No, Doyle seemed shirtier than ever, and quicker to take and give offence. His appearance did nothing to reassure Bodie that he was all right, either.

He followed his moody, bruised partner unhappily. Now they’d be fighting for real, too, instead of just sparring a bit with words. He wasn’t looking forward to it. Because there was no good solution, was there? Either he won and hurt Doyle more—or he lost, and the sarky git got to feel superior again!

#3

 **In the Ring**

  
Stay down! With all his heart and soul, Bodie willed Doyle to stay down. He glared at Ray over his own raised fists.

The two of them circled again. The anger and defiance in Doyle’s eyes weren’t faked. The bloody stubborn fool!

Doyle had already been knocked about too many times. That boxing job and now this—it was too much. _Just let me knock you down, and I’ll be in free!_

But Doyle wouldn’t take a dive. He wouldn’t take a dive even for Bodie! That stubborn look in his eyes—he wasn’t himself. He wouldn’t give up, no matter what.

And worst of all. If he even remembered who Bodie was, it didn’t show in his eyes.

BAM. One final blow, and that was it. Doyle was down. If only he hadn’t fought so hard—against all reason, he—

Blood showed at his mouth. He lay so awfully, terribly still.

Bodie stared down at him for one horrified moment and wondered if his partner was even alive. He felt deeply ill, gut-sick, a bone-deep nausea. Yet he forced himself to turn stoically and raise a hand, triumphant. He wanted to be sick when Valentin’s henchmen grinned.

He’d made it: now he would be undercover in Valentin’s gang as well....

But what of Doyle? And why had he seemed like a stranger? There was something missing in his eyes. As if he didn’t recognise Bodie at all....

He wanted to kneel over his friend and try to bring him round, but left it to the tough, tanned old man with the limp. Bodie was drawn away to be told his new duties for Valentin. Bodie hadn’t learned the old man’s name yet; he didn’t know if he could be trusted with Doyle. Bodie kept glancing back. He saw the old man slap Doyle a couple of times on the face, then grow impatient and splash water in his face. Doyle lay so very still....

 _Take him to the hospital!_ willed Bodie. _Take him now!_

But it was over an hour before the old man took the punch-drunk Doyle, still only half conscious and groggy, to the hospital.

It was longer yet before Bodie could get away to check on him....

First he had to sit through the endless explanations of what his job would be, listen to jokes, accept a pint, then another pint, and then be told where he could stay. All before he could get away to hospital to check on Doyle.

Once there, out of desperation, he flashed his CI5 ID to the nurse. They didn’t want to tell him about Doyle’s condition until then.

The old man had just left Doyle there, abandoned. A loser now, despite all the bouts he’d won for them. Just discarded...

Would that be their fate at CI5 someday?

#

Bodie paced in the hospital room with the doctor who finally had time to see him. They hadn’t known Doyle was CI5 until he told them, and had them call Cowley.

He’d had to go back to his undercover work more quickly than he liked, and it was only on this, his second, quickly stolen second visit that he was getting any answers. He’d worried all night, not a moment going by when he didn’t wonder if his mate was going to be all right.

“He’ll be all right. Doyle’s been hurt before and nothing like this happened,” Bodie said.

“Traumatic brain injury?” asked the doctor, raising a sceptical eyebrow.

“Well, yes, suppose so. Didn’t always go to the hospital to find out.”

The doctor looked at him, concerned and reproachful. “Other incidents of blacking out? Losing time?”

“Well, maybe a bit of time.” Bodie shuffled uneasily. “Look, you can’t make him go to the doctor if he doesn’t want to. He’s the stubbornest berk…”

His voice trailed off as he looked uneasily down at the unconscious man. It was true that you couldn’t make Doyle do anything he didn’t want to do, but how often had Bodie just been relieved to put injuries behind them—his or Doyle’s—without much thought of permanent damage?

If Doyle said he was fine, who minded if he’d lost a few hours or even a day? Bodie could back him up, cover for him, the same as Doyle would cover for him. Nobody else needed to know about any temporary weaknesses either of them experienced.

The doctor didn’t say anything, but his eyes were disapproving, like he didn’t think much of people who thought they knew better than doctors when they hadn’t even been to see any.

#

Bodie sat by the bed, consumed with anxiety and guilt. Such thoughts were unusual for him. You moved forward in life. You couldn’t spend your time looking back or wishing something had gone differently than it had. Yes, some things hurt even years later, but you did your best to change how you behaved and not think about the past anymore.

Except. When it wasn’t the past anymore.

He stared sadly at his friend’s face—bruised, pale, so still. Doyle had been slipping in and out of consciousness. He was groggy and uncertain of his surroundings when awake. The doctors had kept Bodie away most of the time, claiming they needed to take care of the patient without any distractions for Doyle. They’d told him not to bring up the past or anything else Ray might have forgotten, at least until Doyle did.

Bodie had wanted to rush in. Had wanted to answer Ray’s anxious, shaky question, “Where am I?”

Had wanted Doyle to recognise him.

He was equally dreading and hoping for the first time he would see Doyle awake, properly, no glass between them. He was dreading that look of confusion, aimed at him.

A groan came from the patient. Doyle stirred, a frown creasing his forehead. Bodie moved forward, grabbing the glass of water that was waiting for Doyle.

Eyelids fluttered; Doyle’s green eyes opened, confused and groggy, showing he was in pain.

“Water?” offered Bodie, moving the glass towards his friend’s mouth, straw pointed towards him.

Doyle turned his head to accept it and drank a few sips. His eyes focused past the glass—on Bodie. He looked faintly confused.

As though he was trying to figure out who this stranger was.

#

Cowley spoke calmly. “Bodie, you know I need you undercover until we have enough information on Valentin to stop his operation.”

Bodie’s lips tightened stubbornly. “Well I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve got to have time off. I have to look after Doyle.”

Cowley removed his glasses. He spoke in that peculiarly gentle voice that somehow struck more fear into his agents’ hearts than his angry rasp. “Bodie, the doctors said you’re not needed at all right now. In fact, Doyle doesn’t even recognise you.”

The words were like a knife in his heart. He tried not to wince, but he couldn’t keep meeting Cowley’s gentle, sad gaze. “That’s why he needs me more than ever, sir.” He couldn’t help the feeling. He’d let Doyle down, now he needed to make up for it. No matter how long it took.

Bodie bit his lower lip, and he said something he never thought he’d say. “Please, sir. I can’t leave him alone in that hospital.”

Cowley looked at him for a long moment. At last he nodded. “All right, Bodie. One more day and we’ll have the raid. Then you may stay with Doyle for as long as you wish.”

Cowley’s word was his bond. Bodie released the breath he’d felt like he’d been holding since this whole nightmare began. “Thank you, sir! I’ll make sure we have enough dirt on Valentin.”

#4

 **Sentences**

“CI5! Hands in the air!” Agents burst into the building, swarming around Valentin’s headquarters full of rich, opulent couches and mahogany desk.

Valentin made a move for his gun, but he didn’t get far. “Try it,” said Bodie through a fierce grin, conscious of the fact that he was gritting his teeth and grinning like a death’s-head.

In his surprise, Valentin stopped—more from the sight of Bodie than from the gun. “You?!”

“Yeah, me mate, and it’s my mate who’s in the hospital because of you, so don’t think I won’t pull the trigger.”

Slowly, Valentin’s hands rose above his head. “You!” he repeated, in a mix of disgust and self-loathing.

Bodie allowed himself a small, grim grin. He yanked Valentin’s arms behind his back none too gently and handcuffed him. He made the cuffs a bit too tight. On the one hand, he was glad when Anson took charge of Valentin, and on the other disappointed. He would’ve liked to deliver a few blows to that spotless, unharmed face. This smooth, bland villain was the one responsible for Doyle’s injuries. Even if he hadn’t delivered the blows himself.

#

Bodie seated himself by the bed and grimaced. “Hello, sunshine,” he said, making an effort to make his voice cheery instead of heavy. He suppressed a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. His muscles were so tight lately and strained even when he didn’t need to use heroic eruptions of strength. Nothing seemed to help; even action did little to relieve his tension. Maybe it would get better now that Valentin was safely locked up. It hadn’t been easy, being undercover, pretending he could stand the sight of that man and listening to his orders.

That was over. “We got him sunshine.” He leaned forward, realised he was speaking barely above a hoarse whisper and raised his voice again. “You hear me, Doyle? We got him.”

He stared at his still, silent partner and cursed the day Doyle had agreed to go undercover at Cowley’s command—and Bodie hadn’t stopped it.

Doyle should be able to take care of himself. Yeah.... So much for that, sunshine.

The ache inside his chest told him it was his job, and he’d fallen down on it. Logic or no.

Fortunately, there had been a safety valve for his helpless rage: the need to take down Valentin, and the opportunity and approval to do it. It hadn’t been like King Billy, where it had just festered in him till he went nuts.

At least, not so far.

He leaned forward, and sighed, and scrubbed a hand back over his head. “Wake up soon, sunshine. All right?”

#

Bodie was on the edge of his seat barely able to sit still. He crossed his arms. Uncrossed them. Frowned out the window. Opened his mouth to say something to Cowley, some small talk about the weather—he was feeling that inspired with conversational ideas.

The door opened and the doctor walked in carrying a file and looking grim. Bodie straightened as if to attention, though he was sitting. He realised he was holding his breath and tried to release it. How could Cowley beside him be so calm, so rocklike about all of this? About Doyle’s... fate.

“Well, gentlemen,” said the doctor adjusting his glasses. “I’m afraid the news isn’t good. He seems to have difficulty remembering the time and place, and you’ve each stated that he doesn’t seem to recognise either of you, people he worked with on a daily basis.” He looked at his paper.

Bodie swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn’t like remembering that: Doyle, finally conscious, looking at him like a stranger, like he was trying to place Bodie and couldn’t, and it was all too much effort anyway.

“Don’t remember me, sunshine?” Bodie had asked, trying to put some jauntiness in his tone as if it were a joke.

“I’m sorry, I don’t. May I have some water, please?”

That polite tone struck more fear into his heart than a Doyle-style rant would have.  
He’d given his partner the water and watched while he sank back to his pillow, rubbing his forehead, brow furrowing as though exhausted and pained even after only being awake a few minutes.

Once again, Bodie had cursed himself for not intervening and taking Doyle to hospital sooner—and for all the times they’d both ignored Doyle’s head injuries, which may have contributed to this problem. And most of all, for obeying orders and standing up and punching Doyle in the ring....

In the doctor’s office, he waited miserably for the rest of what the man would say: the sentence, as it were.

“Well, go on, man!” snapped Cowley. Apparently the Cow’s nerves weren’t made of steel after all.

The doctor cleared his throat. “A-hem. He seems to remember some things, but he also talks a great deal of nonsense such as mentioning incidents of trying to disarm atom bombs in bowling alleys.” The doctor made a dismissive face and put down his papers.

Bodie and Cowley glanced at one another.

“I’m afraid the only thing for him now is rest. I suggest a rest home with security, somewhere the staff has signed the Official Secrets Act, in case he does begin to share any truly classified information. From what I understand of your job—”

“Yes, it’s true man, it’s all true.” Cowley rose, his voice irritable. “Very well. Get me the name of the best such facility and I’ll see that Doyle gets into it.” He looked angry behind his glasses, but Bodie was even more so.

“Sir!” He rose as well. “I can’t believe you’re going to foist Doyle off on some facility. And after his mother said specifically we should send him home to her...”

“Bodie! I’ve no doubt Doyle would be happier with his mother, but he needs watching. He also needs security. In this state, it’s not safe to leave him. He does remember enough to be a tempting target for anyone wanting to torture and interrogate him about CI5 plans, and he’s not able to look after himself in this state. I can’t spare the agents for round the clock protection detail at the moment, and I’m sure you’ll agree Doyle should have the best care possible—a hospital.”

“I’ll go,” said Bodie, his mouth set stubbornly. “A hospital’s very well if you’re ill, but to remember things and rest, you need to go home. And he did remember his mother, sir. You know he did.” He looked at his boss reproachfully from under lowered brows.

“Bodie—”

“I’ll resign if you’d like,” said Bodie crisply. “If you can’t spare me.”

He could hardly believe he’d said that aloud, but he had, and in front of the doctor, too. Bodie supposed Cowley would have to call him to order for it, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to quit CI5, but he would if staying meant he couldn’t look after Doyle properly in this time of need.

Instead of yelling at him and setting him straight, Cowley glared a bit and then said, “Very well, Bodie, you may consider yourself suspended until further notice. And you may escort Doyle to his mother’s when she’s ready for him.” Cowley turned and walked from the room, limping a little.

Bodie’s face lit. “Thank you, sir!”

  



End file.
